“I’m glad you went,” she added presently. “It shows there was no feeling, no matter how bad Julia treated me. It shows that I forgave her. People knew I couldn’t go.”
There was a long pause punctuated by the loud monotonous ticking of the brass clock. Outside the wind whistled among the cornices.
“She must have left a great deal of money,” observed Mrs. Harrison. “More than a couple of millions, I shouldn’t wonder. They haven’t spent anything in the last ten years.”
Willie Harrison lighted a cigarette. “Except Irene,” he said. “She has been giving money to the strikers. Everybody knows that.”
“But that’s her own,” said his mother. “It has nothing to do with what Julia left.” She stirred restlessly. “Please, Willie, will you not smoke in here. I can’t bear the smell of tobacco.”
Willie extinguished the cigarette and finding no place in the whole room where he might dispose of the remains, he thrust them silently into his pocket.
“I asked her at the funeral if it was true,” he said. “And she told me it was none of my business ... that she would give everything she possessed if she saw fit.”
Mrs. Harrison grunted. “It’s that Krylenko,” she observed. “That’s who it is. Don’t tell me she’d give away her money for love of the strikers. No Shane ever gave his fortune to the poor.”
The clock again ticked violently and without interruption for a long time.
“And Lily,” said Mrs. Harrison presently.